


your accent mixing with mine

by spacebubble



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Character Study, Conversations, Language, M/M, Pet Names, Shapeshifting, Translator Malfunctions, Universal Translators, and a burgeoning friendship with a detail-obsessed tinker tailor etcetera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebubble/pseuds/spacebubble
Summary: The station's universal translators are malfunctioning, but Quark and Odo don't have a problem understanding each other.In fact, a conversation with Garak helps Odo understand far more about Quark than ever before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> set some time after 3x21, "The Die is Cast" and 4x13, "Crossfire," but before the season 4 finale. It's not strictly canon-compliant (especially regarding the conjectures about various Trek languages - but then again, it's not so much the exact words that matter, as you'll see...)
> 
> mildly inspired by [a question someone asked @eldritchtribble](https://soft-galaxies.tumblr.com/post/160144294236/tell-us-about-your-quodo-kardassi-headcanon-my) some time ago! I ended up not using the joke I made in my reblog, but consider it a deleted scene that easily could have occurred, had the malfunctions lasted longer.

Odo’s never been a particularly talkative person.

He’s comfortable with stretches of uninterrupted peace. Silence makes concentration easier. He loves the stillness of the evening, when the station is mostly at rest and he can truly focus on the various problems tangling up his days.

But Odo doesn’t love being alone.

He supposes this is why he finds it easier to be around talkative people when he’s in a social mood, and he does try to be more social nowadays. He now finds himself with people who actually do wish to socialize with him, and it’s a refreshing feeling.

Garak is one of these people. Their occasional breakfasts have become regular appointments, and Odo doesn’t bother with the pretense of shifting a simulated mug of raktajino in his hand anymore. Garak doesn’t mind, anyway. The tailor’s delighted to have someone to talk with when Dr. Bashir’s busy with his morning patients.

They don’t discuss the torture. There’s nothing left to say, even though Kira and Quark both had plenty to say when they found out what had occurred.

(And Odo suspects Dr. Mora would likely have plenty more to say about Cardassian-induced pressure to obtain certain results, but Odo doesn’t intend for him to ever find out. The scientist’s under enough stress as it is, and the stress has a way of showing on his face. It’s too stark a reminder of humanoid fragility for Odo’s comfort.)

It would help if Garak weren’t always so quick to apologize to Odo for any perceived offense, no matter how minor or tenuous. Even if the tailor won’t admit it, Odo suspects he’s still trying to make up for the interrogation.

Perhaps only Garak could decide when he was done being remorseful. In the meantime, Odo is content to simply enjoy the tailor's company.

Odo prefers to keep their morning conversations as light as possible, and Garak’s usually more than happy to oblige. Sometimes he suspects they both need the break from the heavier issues weighing upon their minds.

Garak, for his part, tends not to bring up anything troubling.

That is, until...

“Constable, have you ever considered _not_ talking to Quark?”

Odo stares at Garak from across the table. He resists the urge to glance around.

There aren’t many others at the replimat this early in the day - Garak prefers scheduling their breakfasts around this time for precisely that reason - but Odo still feels scrutinized by millions of eyes nonetheless.

Luckily for him, the feeling doesn’t have any basis in reality.

It’s been days since the station’s universal translators began malfunctioning. Even if anyone can overhear them in the replimat, very few people could understand Kardasi well enough to eavesdrop on their conversation - and none of them are present.

(The malfunctions are a simple engineering issue, allegedly - one that Chief O’Brien could solve easily, if his expertise weren’t constantly required elsewhere. No signs of sabotage - for now.)

“I don’t quite follow,” Odo replies. He understands Kardasi perfectly well, so it perturbs him not to fully comprehend what Garak might mean. “Why _wouldn’t_ I talk with Quark?”

Garak smiles with an amusement that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “An idle thought I had, nothing more. But I _am_ curious - have you ever considered it? Not entirely, mind you - just for a day or two. Hypothetically speaking.”

Odo hasn’t.

He’s certainly been annoyed by Quark’s ceaseless prattle on more than one occasion - it’s often unwanted, loud, and disruptive.

But if he thinks about it, Odo can’t remember the last time he’s gone an entire day without speaking with Quark. Not when they were both on the station, at least.

He sinks into contemplation as Garak eyes him with curiosity.

“Constable?”

“I’m considering,” Odo replies, but he suspects Garak already knows the answer. “You mentioned a day or two. Is there a reason for the timeframe?”

“Ah, well.” Garak looks faintly embarrassed but optimistic. “There’s a particularly complex order I’m attempting to finish, and it requires a sustained concentration that I just haven’t been able to obtain lately…"

“Garak. How could my conversations with Quark possibly affect your concentration?”

The tailor sighs. “Constable, it may have escaped your attention, but… oh, how shall I put this…” Garak puts on a smile. “Your routine visits to the bar. They have a way of, shall we say, provoking a certain increase in volume from our favorite bartender. And Quark’s voice has a certain tendency to carry across the Promenade.”

“...Carry?”

Garak nods. “Unmistakably so. It rings through my humble little shop with a remarkable clarity. The correlation between the volume and your visits is -”

“Preposterous,” Odo scoffs. “Quark has _always_ been a loud nuisance. I’m surprised you haven’t filed a noise complaint before now.”

A humorless chuckle. “I’m afraid the situation doesn’t exactly fit within the rigid confines of a noise complaint, Constable. The fact of the matter is... he’s inescapably louder whenever _you_ speak with him. And only you.”

Odo takes a moment to digest the information. “Me?”

“Several times a day, is it? More than that, on occasion.” Garak’s smile grows wider, and the amusement does reach his eyes this time. “A tailor notices these things.”

“Yes,” Odo replies dryly, “I’m sure a plain and simple tailor like yourself, whose hearing isn’t at all honed to pay attention to details that others would dismiss, would notice these things.”

Garak shrugs with a practiced nonchalance. “The recent malfunctions do happen to make every instance of Kardasi within hearing range more _noticeable_ , nowadays.”

“Hmph. And I suppose my ‘instances’ are more noticeable as well?” Odo folds his arms, disgruntled. “I’ll admit I’m unaccustomed to processing a noise complaint against myself, but if the occasion calls for it -”

“No, Constable, not at all!” Garak holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “And I certainly didn’t intend to imply such an offense. Your voice hits a pleasantly _unobtrusive_ register. I can barely notice it from my shop. Unlike Quark’s.”

There’s a strange feeling that floats within Odo at the thought of Quark reacting to him in such a particular way.

Something light, mostly.

Confusing.  

He doesn’t have a name for it. Odo’s been adept at understanding numerous languages ever since he began working on the station, but his emotions have a tendency to elude simple definitions.

He decides to further investigate.

“Speaking of words,” Odo says, “why would you think Quark’s increase in volume correlates with my visits? You can’t see inside the bar from your shop.”

“Ah. Yes. Well.” Garak sets down his eating utensil, and Odo knows the explanation won’t be brief. “It’s something only a native Kardasi speaker can discern, but it’s glaringly obvious after the recent malfunctions. You see, Odo, there are certain linguistic quirks in Kardasi that are omitted from the universal translator’s databanks - they add layers of context that can’t be rendered easily in direct translation. Particular morphemes, if you will. Specific suffixes, for example…”

Odo’s mind starts swirling in distress as Garak launches into a lengthy summation of what those quirks mean.

_Affection._

That can’t possibly be correct.

“You must be mistaken,” Odo blurts out.

“Pardon?” Garak replies mildly, graciously ignoring the assertion that he could be mistaken about his own language and its uses, and Odo feels embarrassed at the slight.

He tells himself that’s the only thing he feels embarrassed about. “You must have misheard Quark somehow,” Odo continues. “He doesn’t refer to me any differently than he did before the malfunction.”

Garak smiles. He remains pointedly silent.

They look at each other and Odo frowns more deeply than he can ever remember frowning.

It has to be a mistake.

Because if it’s not a mistake, and Quark has been speaking affectionately to him for years...

Odo pushes his chair back and stands up abruptly.

“Leaving so soon?” Garak asks, watching Odo crossly shove the empty chair back in place.

“Yes.”

“Oh, dear.” Garak stands up as well, another apology lurking behind his eyes. “Odo, I’m sorry if -”

“No apologies needed, Mister Garak. Enjoy the rest of your breakfast.”

“ _Mister_ …?” Garak repeats, startled by the formality, but Odo’s already walking away.

 

* * *

 

Garak must be wrong.

That _has_ to be the most reasonable explanation.

Odo doesn’t care that Garak’s likely telling the truth about Kardasi and its meanings. A part of him understands that Garak has no reason to lie about any of that.

But the notion is absurd.

Quark doesn’t care about him any more than he cares about Quark.

Right?

Odo stalks into his office with a deep frown.

He’d prefer to forget about the idea entirely, but his investigator’s mind finds it hard to stop thinking about it.

Say Quark _does_ speak to him affectionately.

Say Quark has been doing so for years.

Odo paces the room like a caged animal.

Years of affection, hidden in plain sight.

Say it’s all true.

Say he doesn’t mind.

And as soon as the thought comes to him, Odo realizes he doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Odo avoids visiting the bar for the rest of the day.

It’s a frivolous habit, anyway. There were so many other leads to pursue. More useful lines of inquiry to examine.

Not that Odo’s pursued any of those in the interval after breakfast.

He's sitting in his office, staring blankly at a security report he’s been staring blankly at for the past however many minutes, when the doors open to reveal the person he leasts wants to see.

Quark strides in, looking somewhat underslept (as usual) and pleased to see him (ambiguously unusual).

“Hey, Odo.” Quark sounds far too nonchalant. “Been busy?”

“Yes,” Odo replies curtly, and Quark smiles.

All Odo knows is that he doesn’t want to see Quark smiling right now, so he spins his chair away from Quark’s direction with an irritated grunt.

He faces the wall as he asks, “What do you want, Quark?”

“It’s just that I haven’t seen you all day,” Quark replies, and Odo tries not to dwell on recognizing the affectionate suffixes that Garak told him about. “Thought I’d come to you for a change.”

He continues staring at the wall. “Unnecessary.”

“Yeah, well.” Quark pauses, and Odo supposes the Ferengi’s shrugging. “Feels weird going more than a few hours without seeing you haunting me at the bar.”

Odo pauses.

He definitely heard one of the suffixes that time.

The one Garak highlighted as referring to a long-term partnership.

_Or the optimism of one who longs for a longer-term partnership, at least._

“Say that again?” Odo asks in a daze.

“Say what again?”

“The entire sentence.”

“...Okay,” Quark says, incredulity coloring his voice.

Nevertheless, he acquiesces, and the affectionate suffix is clearer than ever.

Odo glances back over his shoulder.

Quark’s leaning on his desk, looking somewhat impatient and irritated. “So are you going to tell me why you wanted to hear me repeat myself?”

“What?” Odo asks faintly, and he spins his chair back around until they’re facing each other again.

Quark rolls his eyes. “I know you can hear me, Odo. So why’d you want me to repeat myself?”

“No reason.”

“You always have a reason. Not always a good one, but a reason nonetheless.” Quark drums his fingers on Odo’s desk. “Is it for an investigation or something? Because I thought we’ve established that I’m much more helpful when I actually know why I’m helping.”

“Have we,” Odo murmurs absently, suddenly very aware of certain tonal shifts that Garak had mentioned back at the replimat.

_A pillow talk of sorts - someone trying to persuade their partner to divulge a secret, before sleep blurs the memory._

“Odo?”

Odo snaps back to attention. “What?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Quark tilts his head. “Is this some kind of test?”

Odo scrutinizes the Ferengi standing in front of him.

It wouldn’t do to discuss matters with Quark directly. He’d likely deny any sincere feeling.

No, Quark would lie about his true intentions, just like he’s lied about so much else over the years.

Besides, Odo wouldn’t know what to do with the information if he obtained it.

He’s not even sure he knows what to do with his own mixture of feelings, much less Quark’s.

So he stalls for time.

“You’re correct,” Odo tells him. “This _is_ a test. For an immensely secretive investigation.”

“I knew it!” Quark leans closer, grinning. “Well, guess I can’t pry. It’s related to the translators, right?”

Odo nods. It’s not technically a lie.

Quark’s eyes widen - he always did have a confounding fascination with all things conspiratorial and covert. “I’ll bet it’s the Dominion,” he whispers, before returning to his normal obnoxious volume. “Anything else you want to hear me say?”

Now that Odo can identify the affectionate signifiers so clearly, he can’t stop noticing their usage.

“Let’s talk in Bajoran,” Odo suggests. At least there’s no risk of superfluously emotional morphemes in Bajoran.

Quark’s grin falters somewhat as he switches languages, though his accent is accurate enough. “All right. About what?”

Odo hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Have you heard of any unusual behavior today?”

“Today? No difference from the usual.” Quark frowns, trying to recall vocabulary and syntax. “Fewer faces. Morn continues saying a lot of stories. No useful stories. You’re interested in crimes?”

It’s strangely endearing, watching Quark struggle to speak for once. Odo suppresses a chuckle and replies, “Yes, always.”

“You know I mean something else,” Quark says, exasperated again, and there’s no bothersome Cardassian tonal shifts for Odo to worry about. Bajoran is refreshingly matter-of-fact. “Anyway, crime activities are the same amount. ”

“And I’m sure yours are excluded from this estimate?” Odo asks, leaning an elbow on the desk. He’s feeling remarkably at ease as he slips back into his first adopted language. “Not that you’d ever tell me directly.”

“My counts are true,” Quark replies lightly. “The broken word machines make it tougher to talk business across the stars. Fewer Kardasi-speakers do business lately, and Ferengi merchants are too costly.”

“The translators are malfunctioning,” Odo agrees, “but you can still communicate with your so-called business contacts if they have universal translators of their own. I imagine that’s not much of a hindrance.”

The last word makes Quark tilt his head as he repeats it in a questioning lilt.

“Obstacle,” Odo explains, and when Quark still looks at him questioningly, he tries another explanation. “Something blocking you from doing something else.”

Realization dawns, and Quark nods.

Odo smirks. “I’m surprised you didn’t know the Bajoran for ‘hindrance,’ considering how much you’ve used the Cardassian equivalent.”

“Have I?” Quark asks, surprised.

“You often refer to me as a hindrance where your various deals are concerned.”

Quark considers this, then shrugs. “Well, truth. Anyway, what’s the test? Besides of my waiting?”

“Not ‘waiting.’ You mean ‘patience,’” Odo corrects, his smirk softening to a smile. There’s something soothingly familiar about Quark’s accent, and listening to the Ferengi’s efforts to communicate is an amusement in itself.

“Fine. My _patience_ is quickly reducing,” Quark grumbles, taking care to stress the word. “Odo, I’m visiting because my talking choices are limited. Most of my customers -” and Quark makes a pointing gesture, “- when they order. A talk with Morn risks hours of listening. Garak’s busy with clothes work or learning Federation Standard for Bashir. To conclude, I’m dying for some authentic talk.”

“Hm.” Odo lifts a hand to his mouth, hiding his smile with a thinking gesture, pressing his fingers against his lips. It’s almost reassuring to know that mere linguistic stumbles couldn’t stop Quark’s gregariousness.

“‘Hm?’ Is that all you have to say?” Quark makes a frustrated noise, then folds his arms. “Don’t know why I wanted to visit you.”

“You missed me,” Odo murmurs, half to himself.

He deliberately uses an arcane variation of the verb, one he remembers overhearing when Dr. Mora’s parents had called him at the Bajoran Center for Science, before it wasn’t safe for them to do so anymore.

Quark tilts his head, clearly unfamiliar with the Bajoran term - Odo has never mentioned missing anyone before. “I ‘what’ you?”

Odo chuckles again. “Nothing, Quark.”

His good humor seems to annoy the Ferengi tremendously, triggering a deep scowl.

“This is hard,” Quark whines. “Can we stop speaking Bajoran now? It’s not fair.”

_Not fair._

Odo blinks as he realizes why Quark’s Bajoran accent sounds so familiar.

It resembles his own.

The way Odo pronounces the Bajoran word for “fair” is part of the accent he had adopted from Dr. Mora. It slightly varies from Kira’s pronunciation, evidencing the regional differences between their backgrounds on Bajor.

And Quark echoes Odo’s accent perfectly.

“We can switch back to Kardasi,” Odo says gruffly, the roughness in his voice masking his discomfort at yet another newfound revelation about himself and Quark.

“Oh thank the Blessed Revenue Officer,” Quark says in relief, and Odo knows he means ‘Exchequer,’ but correcting Quark’s vocabulary isn’t as amusing anymore. “You’re such a strange bird sometimes.”

Odo lowers his fingers, until his chin rests on his hand. “Bird?”

Another exasperated sigh from Quark. “Did I use the wrong word again? Thought I was more fluent in Kardasi than that, but go ahead, Odo, tell me what I should have said instead.”

“No, it’s not that. Why did you call me a strange bird?”

“I’ve called you that for years,” Quark says, looking confused. “How are you only noticing that now? Unless…”

“It’s been translated all this time,” Odo realizes. “Before the malfunctions.”

They look at each other for a moment, then Odo turns to his monitor.

He asks the computer to cross-reference the phrase.

The results display neatly on the screen as Quark leans over to take a look.

Odo becomes aware of how their arms almost brush against each other, but Quark’s too busy reading the screening to notice.

“Huh,” Quark says as he scans the screen.

_An admirable outsider, distinct from the masses, stranger to convention. Hails from the classic epic of…._

“One of Natima’s favorite books,” Quark says, a soft expression on his face. “Thought she just meant I was being…”

“A peculiar individual,” Odo guesses, recalling all the times Quark had referred to him as a freak of some sort. “It would appear she was referring to you with an affectionate diminutive, rather than an insult.”

Quark glances back at him with a start. “Always thought it was an insult. It sounded nice coming from her, sure, but I thought that was just because of her.”

“It’s… a reasonable mistake,” Odo says, feeling awkward and relieved at the same time.

Of _course_ Quark didn’t know what he was saying. He wasn’t _that_ careful about language.

Odo wants to laugh.

Garak’s conclusions were faulty. Any impressions he had about Quark’s affection were premised on a mistaken use of Kardasi.

It’s a relief.

So why wasn’t he laughing?

“I have to get back to work,” Quark says abruptly, words flying quickly and effortlessly as he walks away from the desk. “Hope you got whatever results you wanted from the test. Later, Odo.”

And he rushes out before Odo can say anything in reply.

Odo watches the doors slide shut after Quark’s departure.

It fills him with an easily identifiable emotion.

Disappointment.

 

* * *

 

They don’t speak for the rest of the day.

Odo’s not used to wanting to talk with anyone as much as he wants to talk with Quark, but he can’t determine how to resume their rapport.

He keeps stopping himself from simply walking into the bar and -

And then what?

Odo doesn’t know.

He tries to focus on his security reports. When he can’t focus on his reports, he tries to preoccupy himself with reviewing the tactical proposals circulating amongst the senior officers.

But his thoughts keep circulating back to Quark, and how he’d much rather be teasing Quark about his syntax and word choices, and how he couldn’t help but enjoy Quark’s stubborn attempts to communicate.

He finds it difficult to imagine a life where he _can’t_ talk with Quark.

It’s simply a fact of their mutual existence.

They talk with each other. Ever since they’ve met. Unless they were physically separated from one another, beyond even the reaches of subspace communication, they’ve always managed to carve out some small moment in the day to talk.

Odo realizes he’s been holding his padd upside down for the past half hour.

He sighs and sets it down on the desk. He stares out the glass doors of his office.

Across the Promenade, he sees humanoids of all races struggle to talk with their friends and acquaintances. There’s so many interactions between people from different planets. Animated hand gestures, laughter at the wrong words, delighted claps when there’s a communicative breakthrough.

He wonders how Quark would react if they truly couldn’t understand each other.

It’s a wasteful speculation, but Odo engages in it nonetheless.

Say Quark could only communicate in Ferengi.

Say Odo could only communicate in Bajoran.

The languages weren’t similar at all. They likely would have sounded completely nonsensical to one another, babbling incomprehensibly and gesticulating like tourists.

Quark would likely hold up a bar of latinum and figure out the Bajoran for that, first. Or perhaps numbers. That seemed plausible. Yes, numbers.

Or -

Odo smiles as he thinks of Quark gesturing to him and saying the Ferengi word for “police.”

And he, in turn, would gesture to Quark and say the Bajoran word for “criminal.”

They would memorize each other’s pronunciation, repeat it and render it their own.

He supposes the labels would transform into something else, in time.

Perhaps they already have.

 

* * *

Quark was right.

It’s not fair.

* * *

 

The thoughts continue haunting him as he prepares to regenerate into his bucket.

What kind of life would he have without Quark?

Colors fade from Odo’s perception.

A side-effect of his impending regeneration, nothing more.

He reminds himself that they can understand each other perfectly, and if nothing, Quark would never cease to try complaining to him.

His face melts into a smile as his structured thoughts begin to dissolve.

They could be on opposite sides of an impenetrable force field and Quark would still try to communicate with him, as he always does.

They could be at opposite ends of the locked wormhole and Quark would still find a way to annoy the Prophets enough to re-open the path.

Different universes. Different timelines.

Somehow, Odo suspects Quark would find a way to pester him in each and every one.

Or perhaps he would find Quark instead.

If not him as he is now, some version of himself, even in the Link...

Laughter ripples through him as he imagines the Link having to contend with an infinite echo of Quark’s voice for all eternity, resounding throughout the ocean of his people.

The ocean becomes the drop, and Odo reverts to his natural state.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Odo emerges out of his regenerative cycle as he usually does, slowly regaining his sensory awareness as he reassumes his usual form.

Colors bleed back into view as they typically do, filling in his perception of light.

Less typical: the swirling mixture of feelings suffusing his mind.

Odo remembers achieving a certain epiphany earlier, but what it was, he couldn’t quite recall.

He begins inspecting his quarters out of habit, just in case anyone might have broken in during his cycle.

There aren’t any objects out of place. Everything in his quarters is exactly as Odo had left it.

A nascent tendril of speculation curls within Odo’s thought-matrices.

He idly wonders whether Quark has ever broken into his quarters again, after that initial time.

Not one of his best nights.

He hated Quark witnessing him in the ruin of his emotional outburst, seeing the evidence of his lost control scattered all over the floor.

He had fully expected Quark to mock him for his weakness, to chastise him for letting himself be affected by a pitiful humanoid emotion.

And Quark surprised him.

Consoled him, instead.

The Ferengi had pretended his concern was based on some laughable excuse - a betting pool, was it?

But they both knew better.

At least, Odo thought he did.

How would that night have played out differently, without the universal translators?

Odo paces his quarters.

Would he have heard numerous hints at something softer behind the pointed words?

Would he have dragged Quark closer to hear him better, to make sure he knew exactly what the little scoundrel was saying?

Another thread of speculation entwines itself in Odo’s mind as he recalls the previous day.

The mistaken phrase, the subsequent avoidance.

The wistfulness as he looked out his window at the crowds on the Promenade, watching so many do their best to communicate with one another, despite any language barriers that might have stood in their way.

The gentle contentment as he drifted into his natural state, thinking of Quark.

Odo’s at a loss for what to do next.

No, not a total loss.

Best speak to Garak. He’d know what to say.

And even if Garak didn’t know, the tailor would surely have _some_ form of opinion. 

 

* * *

 

At the replimat, Odo sees Garak sitting alone at their usual table.

The tailor’s eating more slowly than usual, frowning at a padd in concentration.

Odo starts walking over.

Before Odo thinks he’s close enough to be detected, Garak glances up in astonishment.

(Even though the Cardassian sense of hearing isn’t nearly as sharp as a Ferengi’s, Odo still suspects Garak of having a keener sense than most. Espionage training, perhaps. He also doesn’t rule out surgical augmentation. Odo’s learned to be comfortable entertaining multiple possibilities whenever Garak’s concerned.)

In any case, the tailor’s astonished look quickly gives way to a smiling relief.

“Constable!” Garak says, quickly pulling his plate closer to himself to make extra room for Odo. The gesture is unnecessary, but polite. “This is _most_ unexpected, but I’m glad of the company.”

Odo grunts in acknowledgement, with a hint of embarrassment. Given the circumstances of the previous day, perhaps he should have informed Garak that he still intended to meet the tailor for breakfast. Garak’s not normally in the habit of carrying around reading material, so he clearly wasn’t expecting any company this morning (even though he seems to have ordered more food than usual, possibly in anticipation of having more time to eat).

“Good book?” Odo asks, gesturing at the padd in Garak’s hand. “One of your beloved repetitive epics, I presume?”

“You presume incorrectly,” Garak says, smile stiffening until it resembles more of a grimace. He holds the padd up for Odo’s inspection. “ _This_ , Constable, _has_ to be one of the dullest primers on Federation Standard that can possibly exist.” He then indicates the chair facing him. “Please, sit.”

Odo sits down. “Federation Standard?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Garak sets the padd down. “I’ve been kindly informed by Mrs. O’Brien that the book enjoys a _very_ respectable reputation amongst the education community. And it’s certainly thorough.” A flicker of distaste flashes across Garak’s face. “Grimly so, I might add.”

“And yet you still persist in reading it.”

“Well, not at this moment, but yes.” Garak sighs in exasperation. “There’s no telling _when_ the universal translators will actually be repaired, and I’m not exactly spoiled for choice when it comes to possible conversational partners on the station.”

“Ah, yes.” Odo considers saying more, but he can tell when Garak’s gearing up for a rant.

And Garak swiftly continues. “You could count the number of fluent Kardasi speakers on one hand - and I do mean _true_ fluency, not the basic competence that passes for fluency in other cultures. It’s impossible to sustain an equitably engaging conversation otherwise.” There’s a hint of contemptuousness in Garak’s voice, but it dissipates when he quickly adds, “I hope you know I consider you one of the fluent speakers, Constable.”

Odo nods. Fluency in Kardasi had been crucial during the Occupation. “I gathered as much.”

“And as you can imagine, the Bajoran-speaking residents of the station have a tendency not to desire prolonged conversations with me, despite my advanced proficiency in their language.”

“Yes,” Odo replies mildly. “I do imagine that they might find the circumstances of your language acquisition somewhat off-putting. But aren’t you fluent in other languages as well?”

“Half a dozen, at least, but nothing suitable for a Federation station in Bajoran space.”

“Is that so?” Odo gives him a wry smile, recalling Garak’s first encounter with Worf. “I thought you also spoke Klingon.”

“I do,” Garak replies, lowering his voice to a droll octave. “But somehow I doubt the Lieutenant Commander and I would have much to discuss, regardless of the state of the universal translators.”

“Ah, yes.” Odo hesitates for a moment, then adds, “I imagine Dr. Bashir doesn’t have much time to learn Kardasi.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Garak averts his eyes. He idly pushes some food around on his plate. “Don’t get me wrong, the good doctor certainly _tries_ , and he’s quite adept at picking up the rules. But the cultural context isn’t something he can intuit as easily. Mind you, it has resulted in some very entertaining lunches as of late.”

There’s a wistful tone to Garak’s voice that Odo can’t remember hearing before.

Odo thinks about how easily he can communicate with Quark, and the amusement he had felt when the Ferengi kept trying to speak in Bajoran.

Would he have found it as entertaining if they didn’t have a mutual fluency in Kardasi to fall back upon?

“But he _is_ making an effort,” Odo emphasizes. “That’s the important thing. Even if his medical duties require the bulk of his attention. He’s still trying, and he’s trying for your sake. I can’t imagine any other person he would bother learning Kardasi for. Or any other reason he would have to do so.”

Garak glances up from his plate.

For a brief moment, he looks openly astounded by Odo’s words.

Odo can’t fathom why. He was merely stating the facts.

The moment passes, and the tailor’s face relaxes into his typical smile.

“Yes,” Garak says. “Well. I figured I ought to expand my knowledge of Standard, but apparently I know far less than I thought I did.” He taps the padd as if he would rather tap right through it to the table below. “As this book so readily reminds me.”

Odo eyes the padd with curiosity. “Why not use a holoprogram instead? I’d imagine it’d be a more useful experience, being able to practice listening and speaking as well. And perhaps it’d be more entertaining in the bargain?”

Garak nods. “Doubtless. And Quark does have several such programs, which I’ve been reliably informed are not nearly as... _mature_ as his typical offerings tend to be.”

Odo makes an incredulous sound. “Are you certain of that?”

“From what the Major has told me, yes. The only maturity lies in the sophistication of the technology. By all counts, they’re educational, practical, and free of coarseness.” Garak ticks off each quality on his fingers. “And were the programs otherwise, I’m sure Major Kira would have taken immediate action to limit their potential audience. But the reservations remain plentiful, and she approves.”

Odo blinks. “She does?”

Garak looks surprised by Odo’s surprise, but considerately declines to inquire further.

Besides Quark, Garak’s the only other person on the station who knows about Odo’s hindered feelings for Kira - and even then, Odo hadn’t confided much.

(Garak had deduced, Odo had briefly confirmed. He hadn’t realized how evident his moods had been. And if anyone else on the station had guessed, Odo never brought it up, and neither did they.)

It occurs to Odo that he’s been so preoccupied with his earlier conversation with Quark that he can’t recall the last time he’s talked with Kira.

Several days, perhaps.

He’s strangely not displeased.

Perhaps he’s finally managed to move on.

“Indeed,” Garak replies, unwilling to let the silence linger for too long. “The Major spoke very highly of her session. Apparently the program’s algorithms manage to assess the user’s comprehension abilities in an ongoing manner, continuously personalizing and customizing the program's difficulty level to match. Far more dynamic than the written form, of course. But, unfortunately, far more popular as a result…”

Odo nods. “So you’ve heard. I take it you haven’t tried one of these programs yourself yet?”

“Goodness, no.” Garak laughs. “The waiting list is far too long.”

“Waiting list?” Odo frowns. “Quark never has a waiting list for any of his programs. He simply takes his reservations as they come.” He sighs a grumbling sort of sigh. “I’ll have to look into it, to make sure he isn’t unfairly gouging his customers.”

Garak eyes him for a moment, then shifts into his usual courteous smile. “It’s certainly an unprecedented situation, I’ll agree. But I suspect many of the station’s denizens are eager for a chance to learn the Emissary’s native language, and immersion certainly seems the best method for absorbing Standard’s numerous… idiosyncrasies.”

Odo chuckles lowly, recalling his own frustration with Standard’s lack of consistent rules, the frequent disconnect between spelling and pronunciation, and the befuddling assortment of slang peppered throughout the language. Utterly disorderly.

“Of course,” Odo replies. “And Quark’s likely exploiting the increased demand. Did he charge you a fee for a spot on this waiting list?”

“Yes -”

“Huh!” Odo means his interjection to sound more sarcastic than it does. “Typical.”

“- _but,_ as far as I can tell,” Garak continues, “the fee is reasonable, and it helps deter the eager masses from overtaking the holosuites. Otherwise, I’d imagine they’d all be occupied by erstwhile language scholars.” The tailor shakes his head solemnly. “And _then_ where would all the station’s hedonists be?”

Odo maintains a carefully neutral expression as he replies, “With one another, perhaps.”

“Constable!” Garak affects a scandalized tone, but it’s undercut by his surprised delight. “Why, that was almost _ribald_. Well _done_.”

(It doesn’t matter how often it happens - Odo’s still proud of intentionally making anyone laugh. A far nicer feeling than finding himself turned into an unwitting punchline.)

“Thank you,” Odo says with a minute nod. He permits himself a small smile of self-satisfaction.

They sit in a companionable silence for a moment, then Garak speaks up again.

“Constable, I’m surprised you haven’t immediately rushed out the door to investigate Quark yet.”

Odo looks at Garak’s plate. “But you haven’t finished eating.”

“Nonsense! There’s no need to wait because of that.”

“I don’t mind.” Odo checks his internal clock - they haven’t exceeded his normal allotment of time for their morning chats, and besides, he needs to think about how he wants to approach Quark.

Garak looks embarrassed. “Odo, I’ve ordered quite the generous breakfast. As you might have noticed, I wasn’t expecting company this morning.”

Odo nods over at the padd. “Clearly.”

But then another thought occurs to him, and he clears his throat, feeling awkward.

“Would you rather I leave you to your studies?” Odo asks. “Only I didn’t realize I was interrupting -”

“No, no, you weren’t interrupting at all,” Garak says hastily. “I’m glad to see you, positively _relieved_ , especially after - well, I was so worried I had _offended_ you yesterday -”

“To the point I’d decline our usual breakfast appointment without advance notice?” And Odo does feel guilty about that, even if it wasn’t true. “I’m sorry I left you with that impression.”

“No need for apologies, Constable - it all seems so silly now.” Garak laughs. “ _Especially_ when you resorted to using the Federation formal honorific.”

“What honorific?” Odo racks his mind, recalling the previous day’s conversation. “‘Mister?’”

Garak winces. “There it is again.”

“I had no idea you’d consider it that way,” Odo says in bewilderment. “Sisko uses it all the time. It’s a formal honorific, yes, but one that indicates a certain degree of respect. Or so I thought.”

This time, it’s Garak’s turn for bewilderment. “Why would you feel the need to emphasize a certain degree of respect?”

“I knew I was making an abrupt departure, but I still wanted to be polite about it.”

Garak still looks doubtful. “Polite,” he repeats. “You were trying to be polite.”

“That’s all.” Odo replays the previous day in his mind, the conversation about tones and morphemes, and how words could say one thing but mean something else entirely. “But it meant something different to you.”

Garak smiles ruefully. “Precisely. To you, a simple honorific. Neutral, but polite.”

“And to you?”

“Corrosion. A friendship turned sour.”

Odo blinks. “Somewhat dramatic.”

And Garak laughs in relief, if also a smattering of defensiveness. “Odo, I thought I had unwittingly sabotaged one of the few things I tolerate about living on this station. Such concerns tend to lend themselves to the dramatic.”

They look at each other for a moment, then smile.

Odo tilts his head. “Did you really think alluding to Quark’s hypothetical affection would offend me? To the point of referring to you in an unfriendly way?”

Garak gives him an incredulous look. “There’s nothing hypothetical about it, Constable. It’s as clear as a bell. Many bells. Rung over the course of each day. Though I suppose I can’t recall hearing his clarion voice yesterday, now that I think about it…”

“Ah.” Odo drums his fingers on the table, then stops once he realizes it’s a habit he’s picked up from Quark. “There’s a reason for that.”

And he launches into an explanation of the conversation and the phrase, and how he hadn’t spoken with Quark since.

Garak has a peculiar look on his face. “I had no idea you were such an impeccable mimic, Odo.”

Odo dips his head in an acknowledging nod. “Thank you. I’ve been told my accent is indistinguishable from a native Cardassian’s.”

“It's not just the accent, though it _is_ commendable,” Garak notes. “I was primarily referring to how you managed to imitate Quark’s voice so precisely.”

Odo hadn’t meant to. He frowns. “Did I?"

“Had I not been watching you speak,” Garak notes with amusement, “I would have sworn he was sitting at this very table.”

He catches sight of Odo’s stony expression and quickly moves on.

“But let’s return to the matter at hand,” Garak continues. “Or phrase, rather.”

Odo folds his arms. “So. What do you think?”

“I think, Constable, that it doesn’t matter Quark was unaware it wasn’t an insult. Or that he seems largely ignorant of the true nature of Kardasi’s other linguistic quirks in general. What matters more is that he still associates you with a term he learned from Dr. Lang.”

“But he was mistaken. It didn’t mean what he thought it did.”

Garak eyes him. “Perhaps. But consider this, Odo: there are innumerable insults in Kardasi reserved for the non-conforming, as I’m sure you are aware.”

Odo thinks of whispers made in corridors, offhand snide remarks they thought he couldn’t understand.

“I’m aware,” Odo replies. “But I fail to see the connection.”

“Quark could have lobbied any manner of insult at you,” Garak explains. “But he continues to return to this one phrase, rarely ever used by any Cardassian - unless they happen to be a hopeless romantic.”

“The computer said it was a classic epic.” Odo frowns. “I don’t seem to recall hopeless romanticism being a feature of Cardassian literature.”

“Not normally, no. But this particular epic is usually read in one’s childhood, when stories of mythological creatures seem as plausible as the most detailed military memoir. The hero of the story can assume the shape of any creature he wishes to become. An incredibly useful characteristic. It’s one of the few instances in which a non-Cardassian is esteemed very highly.”

It takes Odo a moment to digest the information. “I can see how Dr. Lang may have thought it was suitable for Quark, but…”

Garak looks as if he's about to hurl the padd at Odo's head. “Odo. _Please_. I don’t know how I can make myself _any_ clearer. Don’t you think Quark would have noticed if no one else, not once, on a station _full_ of Cardassians, ever once mentioned this particular phrase? When there were - and I do not say this with pride - _ample_ opportunities to insult the non-conforming?”

Odo thinks about how Quark had been working on the station before he ever once stepped foot on the Promenade.

The Cardassians had tolerated Quark's presence as an entertaining figure, outside of the typical power dynamic of the oppressor and the oppressed, but that didn’t exempt Quark from fear of harm.

Other things spring to Odo’s mind.

Quark’s ingratiating demeanor, which had disgusted Odo initially, until he observed how closely it tied with Quark’s strategy for dealing with volatile Cardassians. The disdain with which others would refer to Quark by his race or occupation, rather than his name.

The numerous insults that Quark could have collected over the years, and flung back at Odo, but didn’t.

“Huh,” Odo says.

“Indeed,” Garak replies. “And have you decided how you will proceed?”

Odo nods. “I’m going to investigate Quark’s recent imports.”

Garak’s smile takes on a frozen sort of quality. “What?”

“There might be numbers that don’t match up. Things he thought he could slip past my attention.”

Garak gives him a pointed look. “Are you _quite_ sure that’s what you want to investigate?”

Odo gets up out of his chair. “Yes. I need to a reason to visit Quark, and I’m sure I can come up with something if I review the logs.”

“But -”

“He won’t be in the bar yet. It’s too early.” Odo grips the back of the chair. “He’ll be in his quarters, and I have no reason to visit his quarters at this time of the day.”

The tailor looks as if he’s about to suggest any number of reasons, but lowers his glance to Odo’s hands, which grip the chair very tightly, and changes his mind.

“I see,” Garak says. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Odo makes a neutral sort of grunt as he neatly pushes his chair back in place. “Enjoy the rest of your breakfast. And the book.”

“I’ll certainly enjoy one, but not the other.” Garak laughs. “It’s been a pleasure talking with you, Constable.”

“And you as well.” Odo briefly hesitates, then adds, “You’ve been most helpful, Garak. Thank you.”

And Odo departs.

 

* * *

 

Back in the security office, Odo reviews the latest import logs.

It appears that Quark’s recent shipments have been quite legitimate indeed.

Which was all well and good for the station in terms of adhering to proper procedures, but it certainly doesn’t help Odo come up with a reason for visiting.

Out of curiosity, Odo looks up other recent transactions and communications of Quark’s.

He zeroes in on an unusually large data transfer made to Quark’s personal console.

Unlike past transfers involving multiple levels of encryption indicating the masking of lewd material, this transfer is unencrypted.

Odo checks the identifying information.

He frowns.

It’s a transfer of Bajoran linguistic information.

A book for learning more advanced forms of Bajoran, essentially.

Why would Quark care about learning Bajoran? The Ferengi already knows a respectable amount of Bajoran to the point of near-fluency, even if his memory for vocabulary wasn’t very robust.

Odo reviews the table of contents and grows increasingly perplexed when he notices the sections pertaining to the more obscure dialects of Bajor.

There’s absolutely no need for Quark to obtain information about these dialects.

He checks the timestamp - the previous day.

Odo exits the file.

He stares at his monitor without reading anything on the screen.

If Quark hadn’t known before…

Well, it didn’t necessarily _mean_ anything, missing someone.

Odo leans into his hand, covering his mouth with his knuckles in another thinking gesture.

He had merely been suggesting a motivation for Quark’s visit to his office the previous day.

He theorizes about motivations all the time. It’s part of his job. Quark knows this.

But now Quark might know something else.

What if Quark thought Odo _wanted_ Quark to miss him?

Odo smiles behind his hand.

What if it’s true?

 

* * *

 

Odo waits outside of Quark’s door, hand hovering near the chime just in case he needs to ring it again.

He hopes Quark hadn’t somehow left his quarters in the time it took Odo to walk over from the security office (where he had asked the computer to confirm Quark’s location, just in case the Ferengi decided to head out early).

“Enter,” he hears Quark say from within.

Odo walks through the obliging doors, hands clasped behind his back.

“Oh,” he says, once he catches sight of Quark. “You’re still in your pajamas.”

“And a good morning to you, too, Constable.” The sarcasm in Quark’s voice is muted by his lingering drowsiness.

“Morning, yes.” Odo indicates Quark’s pajamas. “Why haven’t you dressed yet? It's almost business hours. You’re supposed to open the bar soon.”

“Yeah, well.” Quark stifles a yawn. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Hmph.” Odo steps closer. “Stayed up late to send clandestine messages, perhaps?”

“No, actually.” And Quark grins like he does whenever he knows Odo can’t possibly arrest him for doing something legitimate for a change. “I was reading.”

A gentle brush of warmth loops throughout Odo’s mind.

Quark had stayed up late, trying to learn more Bajoran.

“Reading what?”

The Ferengi remains as frustratingly indirect as ever. “Something perfectly legitimate and utterly boring. Surprised it didn’t put me to sleep earlier than it did.”

Odo folds his arms, maintaining the pretense of suspicion. “Sounds fascinating.”

Quark folds his arms as well. “Not nearly as exciting as _Vulcan Love Slave_ , but the genre’s not exactly my favorite.”

“What’s the genre?”

Quark grins. “None of your business, but it’s nothing crude.”

“As if you were the best judge of that.”

“I’ve probably got more experience assessing whether something’s crude or not than the most overworked censors in the quadrant.” Quark tilts his head. “Why are you here, Odo? It can’t be because of my _fascinating_ reading habits. I haven’t even had the chance to do anything suspicious lately.”

“So you say,” Odo says, stalling for time. He’s blanking on whatever excuse he had made to visit Quark, and he’s also blanking on how to turn the conversation back to the book Quark was reading.

Yet he strangely feels at ease.

Conversing with Quark has a way of stabilizing Odo. It gives him a focal point for anchoring his thoughts and their unpredictable flow.

Off Odo’s thoughtful silence, Quark resumes talking. “Like I said before, it’s tougher to negotiate without the universal translators. Certain business associates of mine don’t have translation technology as sophisticated as ours, and I don’t want to risk accidentally offending someone with the wrong words.”

Odo blinks, breakfast with Garak still fresh in his mind. “Yes. That wouldn’t do.”

“Yeah. Can’t really exchange favors if you’re too busy trying to remember which word for blue is flattering or not in Bolian.” Quark affects an innocent expression. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Of course.”

They stare at each other, arms folded, and Odo doesn’t know what to say next.

He’d much rather skip words entirely.

But how?

Odo bristles as he recalls the forced Link from the Changeling saboteur, the unwanted rush of information.

He doesn’t want to force anything onto Quark.

(Even if they could Link, which was obviously impossible. Wasn’t it?)

He needs to think of something else.

“Odo, say something.” Quark huffs in frustration. “You know I hate it when you give me the silent treatment.”

News to Odo. “I do?”

And Quark shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking so exasperated that Odo wants to do something about it, but he doesn’t know what.

“What, you thought I wouldn’t notice you avoiding me yesterday?” Quark asks, his entire body tensing with confrontation-induced adrenaline.

“You were avoiding me as well,” Odo murmurs, stepping even closer.

Quark glares up at him, almost shaking where he stands. “What was I supposed to do, walk back to your office so you could be silent at me in person?”

The affectionate suffixes still ring loud and clear, and Odo chuckles. “I suppose not.”

They’re close enough that Odo can observe every little movement Quark’s mouth makes when he speaks.

“I don’t care that it’s not an insult,” Quark mutters. “You _are_ a strange bird.”

“Yes,” Odo replies. “I suppose I am. I don’t mind. It’s much more preferable than other names I’ve been called.”

At that, Quark falls silent, and whatever hostility he possessed seems to fade.

Odo’s never noticed how soft Quark’s lips looked before.

Not that Odo ever has anything approaching sexual desire, but the longing to connect still traces its way through him, and he’s never been comfortable relying on words.

“Odo?” Quark asks faintly, still looking up at him.

“Hm?”

The Ferengi’s voice is small and quiet. “Is this another test?”

The question gives Odo an idea.

He switches to Bajoran.

“Yes,” he says.

Quark takes a deep breath. He exhales slowly. “Okay. Fine," he says in Bajoran. "What’s the test?”

“Listening comprehension.” Odo tries not to smile.

Quark cocks his head, browridges knitted in concentration. “Listening… knowledge?”

“Almost.” Odo dips his head, until he’s closer than he’s ever been to Quark. He slowly enunciates into Quark’s ear. “Not ‘knowledge.’ Comprehension.”

Quark shivers slightly. He doesn’t move his head away.

“Comprehension,” he exhales, almost sighing the word.

“Very good,” Odo murmurs. “Next test. Ready?”

Quark nods.

“I missed you.”

At that, Quark pulls away to look at him.

“You said that word yesterday,” Quark says. “But I don’t know the accurate meaning.”

“You mean, ‘the definition,’” Odo corrects, but his tone is gentle, and he can’t suspend the smile appearing on his face.

They aren’t touching, but somehow this feels more intimate than any direct contact Odo has ever made.

Quark nods. “Fine. The definition. What is it?”

So Odo tells him.

Quark’s eyes widen. His cheeks turn warm with color.

“Yesterday,” Quark says faintly. “You said the reverse.”

“Yes. Was it true?”

Quark breaks into a smile. “Truth.”

And Quark tries repeating the phrase, but the new word doesn’t roll off his tongue that easily.

Odo laughs. “Almost there.”

Quark eyes him, then glances away, cheeks darkening. He turns his head slightly so his ear faces Odo. “Give another example to me?”

Chuckling lowly, Odo accepts the unspoken invitation. He dips his head down and pronounces each word as precisely as he can. “I missed you, Quark.” His voice brightens into a singsong as he repeats, “I missed you, I missed you, I _missed_ -”

And Quark turns around to kiss him.

His lips are soft. Odo’s assessment had been correct.

He can feel the faint rhythm of Quark’s heart as it beats against his chest, and Odo presses closer, intrigued by the sensation, the fluttering pattern pulsing underneath Quark’s skin, and how it speeds up as they continue to kiss.

Odo’s not entirely sure how to reciprocate the kiss, but he’s quite pleased with the simplicity of such a direct form of contact, so he echoes what he can, matching movement for movement as he kisses Quark back.

He even dares to lick his way into Quark’s inviting mouth.

Somehow they end up on the couch, with Odo sitting down on the couch and Quark sitting down in his lap.

Odo settles his hands on Quark’s hips, holding him in place.

Quark keeps wriggling against him, but not away from him, so Odo figures he must be doing something right.

He wonders if the noises Quark keeps making indicate approval. He hopes they do.

 

* * *

 

“Your timing’s terrible,” Quark tells him later, speaking over his shoulder before returning his attention to his closet.

Odo glances up from Quark’s personal console, where he was skimming the Bajoran treatise that Quark had downloaded the previous night.

He watches Quark tug a blanket even more tightly around his shoulders, the varying folds of the blanket revealing glimpses of unclothed skin underneath.

Odo smirks a little to himself, allowing his gaze to linger before he returns his attention to the console.

“Terrible how?” Odo asks, scrolling with interest through the provided vocabulary charts and their annotations. “This is a very thorough tome, by the way.”

“Thoroughly dull,” Quark calls out. “Anyway, you couldn’t have waited until after business hours? Morn’s probably wasting away on the Promenade, waiting for someone to unlock the door.”

“I’ll have to apologize to Morn,” Odo replies. “And no, I couldn’t have waited another day.”

“Well, not the full day,” Quark agrees. “Would’ve _missed_ you even more if it were.”

Odo looks up from the console. “Say that again?”

Quark rolls his eyes, but the faint blush coloring his lobes undercuts his performance. “Odo, we’ve _just_ -”

“It’s not a test, Quark.” Odo frowns. “I think the translators are functioning again. Chief O’Brien must have finally repaired them.”

“Really?” Quark cocks his head, concentrating. “Missed you.”

Odo doesn’t hear the specificity inherent to the version he taught Quark.

It leaves him with a minute sense of loss.

Quark watches his disappointed expression. “Hey. Odo.”

“Yes?”

“Stay there.” Quark tightens the blanket around his shoulders and walks over.

Curious, Odo swivels the chair to face him.

Quark reaches for Odo’s hand and lifts it up to his lips, until Odo’s fingertips rest on Quark’s mouth.

“Missed you,” Quark says, taking care to emphasize the pronunciation Odo taught him, speaking deliberately enough so Odo can feel the shapes Quark’s mouth makes.

Odo smiles.

He removes his hand away from Quark’s mouth and leans in for a kiss. Quark reciprocates with pleasure.

Translators or no translators, he suspects they now understand each other just fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hot thoughts melt in my mind,_  
>  _could be your accent mixing with mine,_  
>  _you got me uptight, twisting inside,_  
>  _hot thoughts, all in my mind and all of the time..._  
>   
>  **spoon** // hot thoughts
> 
> *
> 
> For the longest time, I thought [Kardasi](https://web.archive.org/web/20050412011054/http://www.pinette.net/chris/startrek/kardasi.html) was the canon-official term for the Cardassian language, which might have been due to seeing the word around a lot on the trek internets and gradually absorbing it into my fandom subconscious? 
> 
> In any case, I've recently learned it's not canon, but there's certainly quite a lot of Kardasi-related constructed language (conlang), headcanons, and meta out in the world for your perusal. None of which really gets addressed in this fic with any specificity, but I hope the fic tracks somewhat with other established Trek worldbuilding, in some fashion, at least. 
> 
> It's also occurred to me that I didn't address whether Garak was able to finish up that special order in peace and relative quiet. Spoiler alert: he totally did.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :3


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